New World
by A Meaningless Jumble of Words
Summary: Two parts. First, how it could have ended. Then, how it should have ended.


Teru Mikami is happy. Happier than he's ever been -- and for good reason. Today is the day that God will crush the last serious challenge to justice. And he, God's chosen one, will be the instrument of this divine will.

Seventeen different alarm clocks, of all descriptions, buzz at 4:30 AM sharp, waking the attorney. Mikami is typically a light sleeper who can be woken easily, barely even requiring the one alarm he normally uses. But he has had foresight, and has made certain he will be on time for the days events. In the service of God, nothing must be left to chance. He keeps this in mind as he springs from bed, shutting off each alarm clock in turn.

He cleans using a toothbrush already lathered with toothpaste and a shower left on all night; puts on clothes he laid out the night before; eats a simple slice of toast as he leaves, which he also set out the night before. This level of preparation is absurd even for him, but today is special, and requires the highest level of efficiency he can muster. He leaves the house at 4:37, and arrives at the bank nearly ten minutes before they even open.

Mikami is clearly anxious outside the bank's locked doors, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. He does not want to wait for anything, not today. When the teller finally steps forward to open the doors from the inside, Mikami startles her by pressing his palms against the glass and leering in. She senses malice in him, a crazed fanaticism ready to boil over. She hesitates to let him in. Despite her better judgment, though, she allows Mikami to enter. He immediately demands access to his safety deposit box, rushing through the necessary signatures and brief paperwork, and practically runs to the back room where he will retrieve the death note.

Time seems to slow as he puts the key in the lock. He feels a wonderful tingling in his fingertips as the teeth knock tumblers into place. With shaking hands he takes the notebook out and stares at it. He knows its every feature well, but it never fails to instill within him a sense of wonder. A sense of hope -- for the very future of the human race. His face contorts into a rictus as he imagines what he will do with the note; it isn't for several moments that he snaps back to reality. Someone may see him, he realizes; he knows an investigator of some sort has been tailing him for the past few weeks. He looks around but sees no one. Again, a rictus: even if they do see him, he knows it's too late for them to do anything. He -- no -- God, via him -- has already won.

Mikami is driving down the highway, the death note safe beside him. His laughter, first quiet, then loud, then maniacal, echoes around him. He does not know much about the larger picture, only his own role in the coming events; he has not even met God in person. But this is the way he prefers it. God is unerring, and so long as Mikami does his part, the cogs will move the machinery of His plan in perfect harmony.

Today will be the greatest day in human history.

Mikami stops his car almost a mile from the Yellow Box, in the middle of a long-deserted industrial complex. The hulking edifices of metal, brick, and concrete, make him feel claustrophobic. He is several hours early, but this is good; to be late even by a second would be an unforgivable mistake.

He inspects the death note closely, using a magnifying glass to pour over every detail. It is clearly the same death note he has always had; only the decoy has been replaced. Just as planned. His excitement is only momentary, however; he must make certain the note is real. In the service of God, nothing must be left to chance.

Still sitting in the car, he turns on a small television set which is mounted in the dash. He flips through the channels until he finds something suitable: a live-broadcast infomercial. On the screen, a portly man in an apron hawks knives. He tosses a tomato up and slices it mid-air, smiling all the while. He has a beard, and gold fillings.

Mikami knows this man has not killed anyone, nor has he broken any other law. But the infomercial man is a criminal nonetheless -- worthless slime from the bottom of humanity's barrel; a charlatan, contributing nothing of merit to society. Creating nothing, affecting no change, bilking fools out of their money with a glib sales pitch for second-rate products. A waste of carbon. The human race would be better off without him.

Without a second thought, Mikami writes the man's name on the first blank page of the death note. Next to it, one word: "accident." 1. 2. 3. He counts up in his mind, watching the screen, waiting for some spectacular misfortune. 16. Perhaps it will be a knife carelessly thrown into the air, implanting itself in his neck. 27. Maybe a stage light will fall from the rafters directly above him. 34. Whatever happens, Mikami knows that the death note will choose the most efficient method possible. It, like God, never errs.

38. 39. 40.

And then -- 41. The sales pitch continues. Mikami checks the spelling on the television screen against the one he has written down, letter by letter. He has made no mistakes. He tries writing the name again on another blank page, but 40 seconds later, nothing has happened. He turns back to a page which has already been filled with names, and scrawls in the margin. This time, out of anxiousness and impatience, or maybe fear, he adds a flourish; now the infomercial man is to die not just by accident, but by a "horrible, bloody accident."

But 40 seconds come and go, and the man is still alive, still yammering on vapidly. Mikami's hands are shaking again, but this time it is not a happy feeling. Turning to another station, he targets a news anchor completely at random, to make sure the other station did not misspell the infomercial man's name, or lie about broadcasting live. But the anchor fails to die, too.

Mikami looks back and forth between the screen and his death note, disbelieving. This is impossible -- it is exactly the same as the real note in every way! And yet it is not the real note. Tears come. He grabs his head with both hands and shakes wildly, moaning like a wounded animal. He slaps his fists impotently against the leather upholstery, breaks the screen of the television with his briefcase. He is nearly hyperventilating now as he realizes why this disaster has happened.

If not for Takeda, that stupid, stupid woman... stupid, stupid, stupid, like a broken record he yells these syllables to an audience of no one.

He cries for what seems like a hundred eternities. This is the worst catastrophe possible. He is a failure. Useless. Evil.

But then, like lightning -- the answer hits him. In an instant, it feels as if a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He begins to breathe normally, to think coherently. His path is clear to him now, and he pulls out of the industrial complex with a newfound resolve.

A lesser man would not have checked the death note, would have accepted its authenticity without question. But Mikami knows God chose him because he is not a lesser man. On the contrary, he is thoughtful -- intelligent and ever-prepared, and he will do what he must to ensure God's victory.

He will not fail God, not now, not when he is most needed. Justice will prevail.

--

Light Yagami is happy. And like Mikami, he is happier than he's ever been. Today, he will finally kill Near -- and, more importantly, today he will truly kill L. His specter has hung over Light for far too long, a bad memory that refuses to go away. Power and suspicion have mixed to create a powerful form of paranoia in Light; in recent days, he has been hallucinating L's disheveled form in the corners of his vision. Blurry little flashes of his old rival that disappear when he focuses on them. This, too, ends today.

Everything is in place now; all that is left is to sit back and watch it unfold. Light can't help but feel an overwhelming pride. Who else could have woven such an intricate and flawless tapestry of deceit? No one.

Light was a skeptic by nature, before finding the death note. In many respects, he remains this way. But if he knows that gods of death and otherworldly realms exist -- why not fate as well? And especially if humans have pre-determined lifespans, it must surely mean...

These things cannot be an accident, no matter what Ryuk says. The death note was a purpose, given to him, for the benefit of all people. This he knows -- and cherishes. His sacrifice, his work, his ascendancy into the divine -- it was meant for him, and him alone. And only he can see this effort through to its conclusion. He strides toward Near with these thoughts in mind. And so much more that he cannot articulate. He is full, to the very brim, overflowing. His wristwatch ticks away; his heart beats in tune. It is all he can do to hold back laughter.

The one squatting down on the concrete floor... white shirt, baggy pants, sitting like a life-sized fetus. Light immediately recognizes this form. And it looks up, directly at him -- L. A mind-bending, universe-shattering sense of calamity overwhelms Light for a fraction of a second. But no. It can't be L; this is just a mask.

Near is a coward. A cheap imitation of a far greater man. Light considers how he will get the mask off. If worse comes to worse, he looks weakly. Mikami could kill everyone else, and... but then Near speaks up, and promises to remove it in just a little while. Light breathes a sigh of relief. This imitator really is just a worthless moron, after all.

The wait is awkward and very tense. Making small talk would seem trite, and both sides are looking for any signs of controlled behavior; every statement could be taken as evidence that the speaker is under the death note's hex. It is best to keep silent. Light casts sidelong glances at his watch -- checking it directly would seem too suspicious, even though he is guilty of nothing but the anxiousness everyone else feels right now.

Near finally removes his mask and speaks directly. He knows about Mikami. He asserts that Mikami is no threat. Perfect.

And soon Mikami himself is upon them, staring in. What an idiot, to be so obvious about it. But then again, it doesn't matter. What can they do in 40 seconds?

Delete. Delete. Delete. Like a madman, Mikami yells out for each name he writes on the other side of the door. In the warehouse, the scene has descended into chaos: the task force, yelling and drawing weapons in terror, demanding that something be done to stop Mikami; the SPK, threatening to shoot any task force member that attempts to open the door; Near, explaining that this is crucial, that Mikami is providing the last piece of evidence they need, that no one will die; and Light, stone-still in the midst of it all, trying to decide when it's safe to start laughing.

Mikami falls silent. The warehouse is silent now, as well. Light asks if he's done writing; yes, comes the answer. Near is curious, and invites him in.

It's almost time. Light asks how long it's been since the first name was written; Mikami begins to count with glee.

35. 36. 37.

Ecstasy. Light can't help himself. "Well Near, it looks like I've won."

40!

"No Light. You--"

Near's eyes widen. His breath becomes ragged, labored. He clutches at his chest to no avail, and falls forward. Cmdr. Rester rushes to help, but stops short, collapses, and dies as well. Like dominoes they go, first the SPK, then the task force. Light's laughter gushes out, backed by the terrified screams of his former colleagues.

Matsuda is the last to die. He unholsters his gun and aims it at Light -- he has to, while he still can, for the sake of everyone Light killed. But it's too late. Matsuda's grip weakens; he falls over. Dead.

Mikami, too, falls forward -- in a reverent bow before Light. And Light, for his part, just throws his head back and lets the glory of it all wash over him. He is free, and soon the world will begin to truly heal because of it. This is true justice.

"Mikami. You did well."

"Yes, God. Thank you, God."

"Stand up. I entrusted my death note to you, but now it's time to give it back. Where it it?"

Mikami looks up, but does not stand, and replies in an uncertain voice. "I... I don't know."

Light frowns at his protégé. This requires more explanation, certainly. "Stand up, dammit."

Mikami complies this time, and begins to explain.

"They replaced it. The real one... with a forgery. They knew where I kept it because I used it to kill Takeda."

Another frown. "Didn't I tell you not to make any movements on your own? I had already taken care of that, you idiot. Look." Light shows Mikami the hidden slip of paper in his watch.

Light is beginning to panic a bit. His death note could be anywhere -- or perhaps destroyed at the hands of the SPK. Or maybe Mikami is just lying to him, and wants to keep it for himself. If he, or the American government, or some other entity has it, Light could be killed soon despite eliminating Near. And if it's been destroyed, he can't use it. But...

Light calms down. These are things to worry about later.

"How did you kill everyone, then?"

"I broke into Takeda's house. She had pages there, in a special place she mentioned to me in a phone conversation." Mikami hands Light the pages -- about 10.

Clever.

Light walks over to Aizawa's body and pokes him, then turns him over, with his foot. He takes the death note from its special holster and opens it.

Ryuk, a silent observer until now, is giggly. "No... you're really gonna do it, after all that?"

"Of course. I can't afford any loose ends."

Mikami is confused; his face contorts. "What? God, what are you talking about?"

"Hand me your pen, Mikami."

Mikami complies instantly.

"Who else is there to eliminate, God? Didn't I kill everyone?"

"You did well, like I said. But there's one person left." Light is scribbling furiously. He chuckles and shows Mikami the page.

"You understand, of course. And you'd probably be willing to do this had I just asked, without using the note. But I don't take chances."

Mikami gives a grim nod.

"To the ground. Okay?"

"Yes, God."

--

Teru Mikami is happy. Happier than he's ever been, as he pours gallons of gasoline across nearly every square inch of the warehouse. It's a little bit more than necessary. But in the service of God, nothing must be left to chance.

He lights a match, turns, and sees God. He's still looking on, from behind the door where Mikami entered. He is smiling. This is good.

As the flames engulf him, Mikami is happy, too, to die. Self-immolation is the only noble way to end a life spent serving justice. The last thing Mikami sees is a pair of eyes staring back at him, glowing red with murder. And despite this, Mikami can only remain happy, because what he sees is not what most would see -- a demon -- but a God. His God. The God of the new world.

What a world it will be!


End file.
